


Soul of a Brave Warrior

by Coconut_of_Doom



Series: The Souls [6]
Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls II
Genre: Action, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Blood, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Death, Fantasy, Fights, Gen, Good versus Evil, Injury, Inspired by Dark Souls (Video Game), Major Character Injury, One Shot, Sad, Sad Ending, Tragedy, Video & Computer Games, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24954289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coconut_of_Doom/pseuds/Coconut_of_Doom
Summary: The last moments of a Brave Warrior.
Series: The Souls [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1783663
Kudos: 2





	Soul of a Brave Warrior

He watched the eyes of his adversary.

And it him.

They circled one another, watching carefully for a sign weakness.

Eyeing for potential blind spots in the others tactics.

Waiting for the other to make a move.

One was a warrior, clad in dark steel and wielding a longsword with a diamond in its hilt.

The other a dreadful dark spirit, black in the soul, with a red aura permeating the evil within.

The spirit had invaded the undead warrior's world for one thing, and one thing only.

To earn the spite of the warrior in question.

To feed its evil tendencies, and receive the spite, the grudge of his adversary, the bitterness of its victory, in the process.

A simple want, a simple need.

All it required was the blood of a healthy undead to be spilt upon the stone of this tower.

The tower before a wharf, guarded by crestfallen knights and giant stone warriors.

The spirit knew this would not be an easy victory, for the warrior had fought his way through ferality and hollowed men to get where he is now.

But still it planned its moves carefully.

It would not allow itself to be defeated so easily.

The warrior himself knew this spirit meant business as well.

He could make out, despite the deep red and blackness, a bow in one hand and a shortsword in the other.

What looked like light and simple armor and leggings, with a small cap atop the spirit's crown.

But simplicity was deadly in its own right.

An archer who was ready to fight in close quarters.

A deadly tactic, and only used by those who were courageous and skilled.

Brute force would not be enough to defeat this adversary.

The warrior would need his dexterity and agility to aid him, in addition to his strength and bravery.

They stood there, toe to toe.

The sun shone brilliantly upon them, like flakes of light billowing down upon where they stood.

But the warrior decided to no longer accept a staring contest.

Battle was the only answer.

He charged forward, raising his weapon in preparation for a connection.

Even with the weight of his armor weighing down upon him, his feet were swift.

The spirit didn't move.

It just stood there, watching his approach with a wicked grin upon its dark, dark face.

The warrior swung down upon it, and the spirit rose his red blade to meet it.

They connected with a ghostly click, and they locked eyes as the warrior beared upon it.

The spirit didn't budge.

The warrior shouted a cry and lashed out with a kick, sending the spirit sliding back upon the stone they stood on.

But the spirit wasn't backing down in any fashion.

He slid, and he slid, and he slid on his feet, all the while he knocked arrow after arrow and unleashed a prickly furry on the warrior.

But the warrior ran, dodging each arrow like it was nothing.

They met once more, and the spirit dodged each thrust and stab with minimal effort.

It danced between the warrior's attacks, parrying where it could and dodging elsewhere.

The warrior continued to cry out his roars, frustrated with the agility his foe had compared to him.

The spirit then struck him hard over the head with the hilt of it's blade, sending him to the floor with a discombobulated grunt.

The warrior landed on his hands and knees and gasped, and didn't hesitate to roll further away.

Away from the spirit's sudden downwards thrust.

But where the warrior saw quick salvation, the spirit saw an opportunity and knocked an arrow.

It loosed it into the air, and the warrior rose up with his blade and swung desperately.

The defense connected with the flying arrow with a loud sting, and the arrow dropped effortlessly and pathetically to the stone floor.

The warrior fell backwards, grabbing a firebomb from his belt and tossing at the spirit as he landed on hard on his rump.

The spirit just ducked, and the glass bottle of fire flew over.

Landing and breaking open only a few feet away.

As the flames spouted forth, the evil being knocked another arrow and loosed it at the dazed warrior.

It flew like a dragon through the breezy air, and the warrior only blinked as he tried to ready a defense.

But he wasn't quick enough.

The arrow, as ghostly as it was deadly, pierced his chestplate without so much as a sound, and the warrior cried out.

The arrow was as much a spirit itself as the spirit who loosed it was.

It didn't matter how strong the armor one bore was.

It could penetrate it all.

This warrior was no different.

He groaned and reached for the arrow, watching the spirit closely.

He tugged and pulled, shouting and groaning at each attempt to pull it loose from his hisself.

But to no avail.

The ghostly arrow was stuck in him now, and it burned like a wildfire within him.

The spirit just watched, slowly slinging the bow over it's dark shoulder.

Either amused with the warrior's quick failure, or pleased with it's own handiwork.

"Godsdamned bastard!" The warrior shouted out, reaching for another firebomb on his belt.

Each movement he made only worsened the pain he was in, and he shouted a cry of deep pain as he weakly chucked the bomb at the spirit.

The spirit simply spun around it, slowly advancing on the prone warrior with fire as its background.

Blood was beginning to seep through the hole the arrow had made, both in his flesh and his armor.

A dark red blood, dark as the spirit.

He tried to crawl away, but he could only get so far on his back.

When the spirit was upon him, he simply raised his blade in his defense.

But the spirit smacked it away with minimal effort.

The blade tumbled and spun away from the duo, landing far enough out of reach from the wounded warrior.

He grunted and looked up at the spirit, inching away as fast as he could.

But the spirit stomped a foot on his chestplate, pinning him to the floor.

He let out a loud grunt, letting his head fall to the stone as the spirit pressed it's evil boot upon him, right next to the dark arrow that had broken his strength.

When he opened his eyes, he found the tip of it's blade at his throat.

He cut his eyes to the blade, then up at the spirit.

It was just standing above him, cocking its head at the lack of strength the warrior showed off.

He just closed his eyes, and defeat became an accepted reality.

The spirit didn't move, and the warrior simply let out a slow breath of air as he braced for another painful death.

"Do it then, evil spirit."

The spirit corrected its head at the warrior's words.

Then slowly, it glazed the tip of it's sword through the flesh of his exposed throat.

Blood followed.

First bright red.

Then a darker color flooded out.

The warrior gasped and his eyes widened, pain burned through his throat as it did his chest.

Sweat dribbled down his face.

He grasped at his throat, clawing at it as the panic surged in.

He had accepted his defeat, but the pain he suffered gave way to a great regret.

The regret of surrendering.

He clawed and choked, gagged and scratched.

No matter what he tried, the blood seeped between his fingers and down his chest.

Mixing with the blood emerging from the existing wound.

The spirit itself, satisfied, sheathed its sword and lifted it's ghostly boot off of the man's chest, and slowly sauntered away.

Leaving the warrior to die in his grisly pain.

The world around him blurred, and his vision greyed itself out.

The world pulsed in his eyes, and he began to hear his own frantic heartbeat above all else.

But it wasn't enough, and he raised his head to watch the spirit.

He tried to utter out a curse, but all that followed was blood dripping from his lips and into his helmet and measly mewl of misery.

The spirit didn't get far, and merely vanished into thin air only a few feet away.

A thick red mist spread from where it stood, extending outwards from where it disappeared.

It was gone.

The arrow sticking out of his chest disappeared as well.

Leaving a filthy bloody hole where it had entered.

And the warrior was dying.

He could do nothing about it.

His bravery was not enough to counter blood loss.

His estus was long gone.

Having been used up in his prior engagements.

All that remained was a measly green flask of air sitting on his belt, useless and taunting.

Slowly, his vision blackened.

And soon he saw nothing at all.

Felt nothing at all.

He was breathing his last breath, the blood draining upon the stone around him.

Would he be reborn?

Or would he hollow finally?

He wouldn't know.

Only the next reincarnation would tell.

But he wasn't scared.

Come what may come.

He would brave it out, as he braved this encounter.

All he was, and all he ever could be, was a Brave Warrior who fell at the hands of an evil, filthy, bitter dark spirit.


End file.
